" "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. McClintock says they can't get in there, or at least they never try it.
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